CHAPTER 50. Mr. PEGGOTTY'S DREAM COMES TRUE

By this time, some months had passed since our interview on the
bank of the river with Martha. I had never seen her since, but she
had communicated with Mr. Peggotty on several occasions. Nothing
had come of her zealous intervention; nor could I infer, from what
he told me, that any clue had been obtained, for a moment, to
Emily's fate. I confess that I began to despair of her recovery,
and gradually to sink deeper and deeper into the belief that she
was dead.

His conviction remained unchanged. So far as I know - and I
believe his honest heart was transparent to me - he never wavered
again, in his solemn certainty of finding her. His patience never
tired. And, although I trembled for the agony it might one day be
to him to have his strong assurance shivered at a blow, there was
something so religious in it, so affectingly expressive of its
anchor being in the purest depths of his fine nature, that the
respect and honour in which I held him were exalted every day.

His was not a lazy trustfulness that hoped, and did no more. He
had been a man of sturdy action all his life, and he knew that in
all things wherein he wanted help he must do his own part
faithfully, and help himself. I have known him set out in the
night, on a misgiving that the light might not be, by some
accident, in the window of the old boat, and walk to Yarmouth. I
have known him, on reading something in the newspaper that might
apply to her, take up his stick, and go forth on a journey of
three- or four-score miles. He made his way by sea to Naples, and
back, after hearing the narrative to which Miss Dartle had assisted
me. All his journeys were ruggedly performed; for he was always
steadfast in a purpose of saving money for Emily's sake, when she
should be found. In all this long pursuit, I never heard him
repine; I never heard him say he was fatigued, or out of heart.